In my last blog post on “Rejoicing While Others Mourn,” I reflected on the rejoicing we did as a family at the end of 2012, knowing that at the same time, there was much mourning by families in so many other places in the world. Shortly after I wrote those words, a time to mourn was thrust into our midst with the sudden death of our 20-year-old neighbor as she finished up her semester of studying abroad in South America.

As I spent much of the week at the Kaplan’s, helping plan a service that we hoped would be a fitting tribute to Tamar’s too-short life, the impossibility of such a task was an ever-present reality. How could a 90-minute service possibly capture the essence of Tamar? Of course, the question itself was an excruciating one—one that should not have to be asked by parents and siblings of a bright-eyed young woman with her whole life ahead of her. Yet there we were, compiling pictures, stories, readings, and music, all in an attempt to capture the rich life she lived.

This holiday season our nation experienced a jarring juxtaposition I’ve becomemore attuned to since living with cancer: the occasion when heartbreak collideswith celebration. The mid-December massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary Schoolinjected shock and grief into a time when tidings of great joy are supposed to rulethe day. How does one rejoice in the midst of others’ anguish?

I admit that more than once during our family celebrations of the past few weeks,my thoughts gravitated to the stark contrast between my family’s days of laughterand joy and the families in Newtown crying their way through the holidays, knowingthat their precious little ones would never see another holiday, another new year,another day of school. There were moments where it felt almost dishonorable to berejoicing, knowing so many others—both in Newtown and beyond—were buried insadness.